


This Nocturnal Dance

by canopy



Category: Fright Night (1985)
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 21:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20459420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canopy/pseuds/canopy
Summary: Not even the devil can so sharp eyes have as neighbors.





	This Nocturnal Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).

> Summary credit goes to Heinrich Boll.

Twilight's started to settle in when Charlie finally wakes up, groggy and blinking sightlessly into the muggy heat of his room. He hates the summer. There's no point in being awake while the sun’s up unless masochism is what you’re after, and Charlie isn’t one of those types of guys. He sleeps the better part of his days away until it’s finally safe to wake up without wanting to die, heedless to his mother's complaints. 

He rolls out of bed and turns on the little TV he'd gotten two Christmases ago, flipping through the channels. It’s all he has to keep him company since Ed's out of town, off on vacation with his family and leaving Charlie all on his lonesome, bored out of his mind and sweating himself into oblivion. 

Charlie zones out front of the TV, completely losing the grasp he has on time once Fight Night takes effect, one bad horror flick rolling right into another. 

A car drives past his house, sending a shock of light through the window and catching Charlie's attention. It's the middle of the week and damn near three in the morning. He gets up from bed and walks to the window.

There are two men heading towards the house next door. Whatever it is that they're carrying seems to be absorbing any and all light that manages to hit it, a great black mass between them. Charlie leans forward, trying to guess at what it might be. His nose hits the glass in his eagerness. 

One of the men turns to look right in his direction, eyes cutting up and meeting Charlie's. Charlie stops breathing so that it stops fogging his view through the window. The moon is bright overhead and Charlie can see him perfectly. He looks like he could be a model, face flawless, the lean line of his body obvious even under the long coat he's wearing. 

The man turns back to his friend and says something. They sit down whatever they were moving into the grass, the other man rolling his eyes and reaching into his pocket as he fishes out a pack of cigarettes, quickly lighting it up as he walks towards the street. 

Charlie watches the object of his interest cuts through into his yard, coming to a stop just below Charlie's room. He mimes opening the window. Charlie undoes the lock and does as much. 

"Good evening," he calls up to Charlie. The rest of the street is dead silent and his voice carries without him needing to shout. "You're up late."

His tone makes Charlie laugh. "Something about summer turns me into a creature of the night, I guess," Charlie says. He nods out towards the street at the man's friend, and then to whatever it is they dropped in the yard next door. "I've heard of people moving out in the dead of the night, but never moving in."

Moonlight catches on the man's teeth, laid out in neat little lines just below the thick swell of his lips. "I suppose the summer does that to me too," he says. "This heatwave makes moving damn near impossible."

"So you are moving in?" Charlie asks. "Not just squatting until the neighbourhood association realizes something is up?"

"There's no getting rid of me now." 

He takes a few steps towards the tree at the side of the house, looking for all the worldlike he might be tempted to climb it. The strongest branch curves right towards Charlie's window. The thought of the man coming up to his room sends a sharp spike right through the base of Charlie's spine, excitement and fear warring inside him. He tongues the edge of his teeth to keep from saying something embarrassing. 

"Hey," the man continues, "Seeing that we're neighbors and all, what's your name anyway? I'm Jerry." 

Charlie folds his arms on the windowsil and rests his chin on them. "I wouldn't have guessed that," he says. "I'm Charlie."

"Charlie." Jerry says his name with a sort of practiced ease. "Nice to meet you, neighbor."

Licking his lips, Charlie says, "Do you—"

"Hey!" Jerry's friend calls out in their direction, walking towards the anemic line of shrubs that separate Charlie's house from Jerry's. "Can we get back to this, please? Some of us actually were planning on sleeping tonight."

Jerry doesn't bother looking back at him, his eyes trained firmly on Charlie's. "I guess that's my cue," he says. "I'll be seeing you, Charlie."

Charlie glares at Jerry's friend as he says, "Sure thing." He flashes a smile down at Jerry. "Well, goodnight."

*

His mom has to wake up early for work. The breakfast she makes serves as Charlie’s dinner, and he gives her a sleepy kiss on the cheek before locking the door behind her and crawling back up to his room, eager to sleep the day away. 

Jerry shows up in his dreams. 

Charlie wakes up to the feel of Jerry at his back, larger body bracketing his. It should be stifling, too hot for the season, but Jerry's skin is cool against his own. 

"What's your favorite color?" Jerry isn’t speaking English, but Charlie can still understand him somehow. His lips catch on Charlie's skin as he presses kisses to Charlie's neck.

Charlie feels like he's just walked in on the middle of a conversation. As is he’s been zoned out and only just came back to himself. 

He doesn't like that he can't see Jerry's face. He tries to roll over to look at him, but the loose embrace Jerry's got him in turns tight, binding, keeping Charlie in place. 

"Blue," he answers at last, whining at being so immobilized. "Why are you in my bed?" 

Jerry's hand strokes against his stomach. His fingernails aren't as well-manicured as the rest of his apparence, and the jagged edges of them raise fine lines against Charlie's skin, breaking himout into gooseflesh. 

"Because you want me to be here," Jerry says. "That's how dreams work."

Charlie reaches his hand up behind him, blindly reaching for Jerry's head. His fingers settle into Jerry's hair, silky and soft. "This isn't a dream."

"Isn't it?"

*

Charlie wakes up feeling off. He stumbles his way into the shower and sits on the floor of it, letting the water rain down over him while he tries to get his mind back into action. 

Even the nights are just about too hot to survive, Charlie's skin left halfway dry just from the short journey from the bathroom and back into his room. He puts on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and heads outside without really thinking about it, trying to catch some fresh air. 

Jerry's out there too, sat on his porch, eating strawberries out of a chipped little bowel at his side. 

"Evening, Charlie." Jerry pats the step next to him in invitation. "You sleep alright?" 

Charlie kicks his leg up and rests his shoe right next to Jerry's hip on the porch rather than sitting down next to him. 

"Interesting dreams," Charlie says. "You all moved in?" 

He doesn't bother to finish chewing before he answers. "It's all finally in the house, if that's what you mean."

Jerry's eyes keep darting over to Charlie's thigh just to the side of his vision. Charlie's whole leg is pale thanks to his sun aversion technique, but his thighs especially so. His shorts are stretched tight, pulled up higher than normal thanks to his position, and it means that the insides of his leg are exposed to Jerry, hardly any hair to be found on them there, just a long smooth stretch of skin. 

"Did your friend go home then?"

"Hm?" Jerry takes his time in looking away from Charlie's body and back into his eyes, popping another strawberry into his mouth along the way. "Oh, Billy's my roommate," he explains. 

Charlie frowns. "Roommate or boyfriend?" 

A smile slides slow across Jerry's face. "Why?" he asks. "It a problem if he is?" 

“Always nice to have a lay of the land,” Charlie says, returning Jerry’s smile. 

There’s one strawberry left and Jerry offers it out to Charlie, his hand hovering between them. Charlie feels brave and bends in half to take it between his lips, eating it right from Jerry’s fingers, keeping eye contact all the while. 

He blinks at how good it is. It must show on his face, as Jerry laughs at him a little while he chews. “They’re in season,” he says. 

Charlie keeps himself leaned into Jerry’s space even after he’s swallowed. “I haven’t had fruit in forever.” He licks his lips. 

“That’s a shame.” Jerry nods his head behind himself, at the door and the house. “I’ve got a loads in the kitchen if you’d like some more. I stocked up for the move and now I’m worried they’ll spoil before I manage to finish them off myself.”

Charlie stands up straight, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Billy isn’t here then,” he says. 

“You’re impossible, kid.” Jerry stands up, no longer caged in against the steps by the curve of Charlie’s body. “Do you want some or not?”

“Lead the way.”

The house is so much older than the Brewster’s, out of place within all the modern renovations and development the neighborhood’s seen in recent years. 

From the look of what Jerry’s managed to unpack, the place certainly seems to suit his aesthetic, all the antiques and vintage items strewn about looking right at home. 

Charlie takes it all in as he trails behind Jerry towards the kitchen. “You into Anne Rice?” he asks.

It gets a laugh from Jerry, the man turning back to flash Charlie another one of his smiles as they reach the kitchen. “Fuck off.” 

“What?” Charlie breaks away to explore on his own, heading straight for Jerry’s fridge. “Nothing wrong with it. I’m more of a Fright Night guy myself, but I can see the lure of stodgy Victorian types.” He whistles when he gets the door open. “Wowie, you weren’t kidding. Is that why you had to move? Killed your local fruit guy?”

Jerry comes up behind him and reaches over Charlie’s shoulder, pulling out a carton of blackberries. “You seem dead-set on assuming the worst in me,” he says. He grabs a few more things from the fridge, mangos and kiwis tied up in neat plastic bags, setting the fruit on the counter and closing the door to keep the cold air trapped in. 

Charlie turns around and lets his back rest against the cold metal, staring up into Jerry’s eyes. “I’ve got an active imagination.”

Jerry steps closer, caging him there. “I can tell.”

“And you’re very interesting.”

“Am I?” Their noses are nearly touching. Jerry’s eyelashes are impossibly long from this close up. “I could say the same about you. How is it exactly that you sleep the day away while eating shit and yet you’re still as thin as you are?”

Charlie grins. “Teenage metabolism.” 

Jerry doesn’t look like he quite believes him. “Uh-huh.” 

He moves to step away but Charlie catches the front of his shirt, gripping it tight and keeping Jerry where he is. It isn’t difficult to get himself into a position where he can tuck his nose just behind Jerry’s ear. 

They’re close enough as it is, so it’s only a matter of leaning forward and up the tiniest bit. Jerry smells amazing. All of Charlie’s world narrows down to the scent of him. His ear is pressed right to the edge of Jerry’s jaw and he can hear the uptick in Jerry’s heartbeat as it races. 

“You seem dead-set on trying to figure me out,” he says, whispering the words into Jerry’s ear. Their chests are as close as the rest of them. Charlie can feel the shiver where it originates somewhere around Jerry’s knees and works its way up the rest of him. 

Jerry turns his head before he answers, his nose brushing against Charlie’s. His lips are only a little bit above Charlie’s and when he speaks it's into a small cavern between their mouths. “Maybe I’ve got an overactive imagination too.”

Charlie tsks. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

It breaks the tension mounting between them and Jerry laughs. He steps back a pace, blinking hard. A hand comes up to rub at his chin as he works his jaw wordlessly a few times. Their eyes meet again but Jerry is quick to look away, stepping away fully and walking towards the counter where he pulls open a drawer to fetch a knife. 

“Here’s some life advice for you, Charlie.” He takes a cutting board that’s propped up against the edge of the wall and lays it flat, placing one of the mangos on it. “Rince off your produce the minute you get home from the store so that you don’t have to deal with it later once you’re actually hungry.”

Charlie steps up behind him, getting up on his tip-toes to look over Jerry’s shoulder and down to the counter. “And are you hungry Jerry?”

Jerry startles with a curse, knife slipping right off the flesh of the fruit and knicking himself. 

Charlie’s nose flares. He winces in sympathy, eyes focused on Jerry’s hand. After a moment the white of the incision bleeds into an angry pink. Then blood begins to well up, a steady pulse in time with the beating of Jerry’s heart. 

“Shit,” Jerry goes to grab for a towel beside the sink to his left but Charlie stops him, gripping his shoulder and keeping him in place. 

“Don’t worry.” Charlie uses his hold on Jerry to get him to turn around so that they’re facing one another again. Jerry’s hand hovers between them and Charlie takes hold of it with both of his own, cradling it just below his chin. 

He looks up at Jerry from beneath his eyelashes and has to smile a bit wider than usual to accommodate his canines, sharp at the edge of his mouth. “I’ll fix you right up.”


End file.
